Recoil (a Worm fanfic)

[Lovro]

 

[Ack]

Recoil

Part 8-9: Heroes and Villains

[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]​

Tuesday Morning, November 5, 1996
The Balcony of Andrea's Apartment

Captain Taylor Snow, PRT (Intelligence)

The view from the apartment balcony was nice, but it had nothing on the one from Andrea's building. Still, so long as I had Kinsey with me, some sacrifices had to be made. Andrea and I sat side by side on folding chairs, each of us holding a cup of hot cocoa. While winters in Brockton Bay were relatively mild (especially compared with Chicago, and absolutely when compared with Toronto), they still weren't warm.

Technically, it was late fall, but cold was still cold.

"So, exactly what happened with the Medhall building back in February?" Andrea lowered her voice and glanced back into the living room as she said this, at where Dragon was keeping an eye on Alec while they both watched a moderately educational kids' TV show. "You mentioned once that they had ties to the Empire Eighty-Eight so it was a bad idea to invest with them, but not much past that."

"Ah. Right." I took a sip of cocoa. "So, you remember Ruth Goldstein?"

"Uh-huh. Yup." Andrea and Ruth had never actually met, but Andrea knew quite a bit about Ruth. The opposite was not true, of course; I was a firm believer in 'need to know', and there was a lot that Ruth didn't need to know. "She was the time-travelling Nazi baby from the future, right? Aster Anders?"

"One and the same," I confirmed. "Except that she was never a Nazi."

She wrinkled her nose at me. "Yeah, but it sounds funnier."

I declined to engage with that statement. "So anyway, she was the daughter of Max and Kayden Anders in the future. Otherwise known as Kaiser and Purity. After the fuckup that basically killed everyone in New Delhi apart from me, Behemoth headed for Brockton Bay with the intent of causing Aster to trigger and creating even more chaos. Phir Sē pulled her out of that mess, then jumped back in time to where Lisa had just died in New Delhi. I didn't know it at the time, but he sent both of us back from the same moment. I went back twenty-two years, and she went back fifty years."

"Huh." By now, all of Andrea's attention was on me. "You've told me bits and pieces, but that's the first time I heard all of it in one sitting. So, Aster was adopted by a Jewish cop, right? He and his wife brought her up?"

"Yeah." I sipped at my cocoa. "Because of her powerset, she remembered her previous life, but from the point of view of a baby. She grew up as Ruth Goldstein, knowing she had powers, but also knowing she had to keep them under wraps. Phir Sē told her to find me in 'eighty-nine, and that I'd know how to save the world."

She snorted in amusement. "So, then she finds out that you're just winging it. Must've come as a massive shock to the system."

"Mm." It wasn't like I could blame Ruth for being surprised. "Just as much of a shock as it was to find out her parents were white supremacist supervillains."

"Ouch." Andrea frowned momentarily, as she visibly connected the dots in her head. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and assume that Richard Anders, aka the deceased—and decapitated—Allfather, was the dad of Max Anders, aka the no-longer-future Kaiser. So, the head of Medhall was also the head of the Empire Eighty-Eight."

"Correct. So, in February, Ruth couldn't accept it anymore. She came to Brockton Bay with the specific aim of shutting down the Empire Eighty-Eight. By the time she was done, Allfather and his daughter Heidi—Iron Rain—were dead, and the Medhall building was on fire. Then she told Max to behave, or else. He went to New York, rebranded as a hero, and joined the Wards. His wife went with him too, and she's recently given birth to their son Theo."

"Oh. Right. Wow." Andrea looked somewhat enlightened. "Now I know all the details, it makes a lot more sense than it did before. Oh, uh, you know how you told me not to invest in Medhall, because Nazis?"

"Yes." I gave her a sidelong glance. "Why?"

She replied with one that was notably shifty. "After the Allfather story broke and their stock started falling through the floor, they were scrambling to sell off their assets to put off the final collapse. I basically jumped in and bought up every bit of it that I could. As soon as the building itself went on the market, I grabbed it too. So yeah, by the time the dust settled, we owned the building plus the land it's on, while the stocks themselves have gone the way of the dodo."

"Really." If anyone knew Andrea, it was me. "So, what wild and crazy thing did you do with the building?"

Notably, she knew me well enough in return to not even try to deny my implicit accusation. "Not so much wild and crazy as … well … karmic." She grinned broadly. "One of the organisations Lisa wanted me to invest in for the tax breaks was a non-profit dedicated to assisting displaced refugees from war-torn nations. Also, there's a Holocaust museum. Pretty sure if we dug up Richard Anders right now, he'd be spinning in his grave hard enough to power the whole damn building."

"Oof." I chuckled as I toasted her with the cocoa mug. "Not to mention the rage emanating through time from Hookwolf and the rest of them. Nicely done." I made a note to ask Lisa what Krieg was doing at this point in time. If he's attempting to rebuild his connections in America, I might just have to do something about that.

"Why, thank you." Andrea preened, looking remarkably pleased with herself.

"So, what were your plans for the day?"

She arched an eyebrow. "What, lying around in bed with you all day isn't an option?"

"Sorry, Kinsey and I have to be on the way back to Chicago in the next hour or so." I said it with some regret. "Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton didn't even hesitate to give me clearance to come on through to Brockton Bay when I needed it, so I'm not going to abuse that."

"Yeah, okay." She sighed wistfully. "I miss our college days. Adulting's harder than it looks. But it's been nice having you here. And I'm pretty sure Alec's happy to see you and Kinsey."

I snorted gently. "Alec's happy to see any adult who'll pay him attention. I'm just glad he's getting a better upbringing than he had in my timeline. His parental and sibling situations were … thoroughly problematic."

"Yeah." She nodded, then took another drink of cocoa. "You filled me in on most of it. By the time he triggers, if he ever does, he's gonna be the happiest, most well-adjusted kid on the block, or I'm gonna know the reason why not. Anyway, I was gonna head over to Winslow later and say hi to Gladys. We get together for coffee occasionally, instead of going out for drinks."

Reaching over, I took her hand. "That's nice. Being vice-principal can't be easy, so she needs all the moral support she can get. Tell her hi from me."

Just then, I heard the sound I'd been listening for: Kinsey opening the bathroom door after taking his morning shower. This was the signal to drop any potentially incriminating subjects. No sense in complicating his life any more than it already was.

"I'll totally do that." Her irrepressible grin broke through. "Meanwhile, back in the day, I was one of the people who made the vice-principal's job harder."

"What was that about adulting, again?" My tone was gently teasing. "Are we actually growing up, these days?"

She blew a raspberry. "Bite your tongue. I might have to grow old, but I'll never grow up."

I grinned and settled back into my chair. Soon enough, I'd have to make a start back toward Chicago. For now, though, it was enough to relax next to my girlfriend and enjoy my morning cocoa.

-ooo-​

At That Same Time
Protectorate Department 01, New York City

Black Prince

"Heeey, Maxie!" Diane caught up with him just as he was entering the elevator. From her beaming expression, she was pleased with the whole world. "Big day today. And just by the way: congrats. You really rocked the review board." She gave him a quick side-hug.

"Thanks. I appreciate it." Max returned the affectionate gesture, then hit the button for the appropriate floor. "And thanks for all the coaching. I'm not sure I would've made it without your help."

"Pfft, hardly. I should be thanking you for the fencing training. Now I can really wreck the bad guys' day with my sword. Anyway, you're a natural for this sort of thing." Reaching up—he stood more than six feet, while she barely made five-six—she ruffled his perfectly coiffed hair. "First time I saw you, I knew you could be a hero if you just had powers. And what do you know, you did."

He raised his eyebrows as the elevator travelled upward. "You do recall who my father was, yes?" While that information was under wraps in the Protectorate files, he'd also filled her in about it one quiet night on patrol. She'd been surprisingly sympathetic about it, alluding vaguely to how 'asshole parents are assholes first and parents second'.

"Yeah, and I also recall how you never really bought into that master-race bullshit." She grinned impishly as he took out a comb and tidied his hair up in the mirrored wall of the elevator. "You work together really well with Torrance, so there's that."

Torrance, also known as Dropforge, was Max's age, built like a brick outhouse, and black as the ace of spades. They'd discovered a certain amount of synergy during training, and Max found he enjoyed working with the other young hero. "Well, it's easy. He's smart and motivated, and he knows what he doesn't know. That last bit's actually rare, these days. Especially among capes."

"Especially among everyone," she corrected him. "People aren't nearly as smart as they think they are."

The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. They stepped out at the same moment. "Even you, too?" he asked, amused.

"Oh, totally me, too." Despite the admission, she sounded totally cheerful about it. "I figured out a long time ago that I'll never know everything about any given situation. So, I'm always looking, always listening, always trying to figure out what's really going on."

"And is that why you make bad mouse puns, or why you're such a smartass?" With most people, he would've hesitated to ask that question, but Diane would always give him a straight answer. It might not be the answer he expected or wanted, but she never gave him the runaround.

"Hah, nope. That's just my natural charm coming out." She jabbed his arm with her elbow. "And my mouse puns are awesome, you ignoramus." She held up a finger. "Ignoray-mouse."

"Opinions vary." He deftly sidestepped the next jab. "Anyway, I've got to go get ready. You need to be down in the audience."

She made a rude noise, then crossed her eyes before making an 'I'm watching you' gesture. "I still don't see why you're so willing to sign up to the adults' table. Six months to go, then I'm outta here."

"And that's the difference between us." He was no longer smiling, because this wasn't a joking matter. "You're a hero. You always were and you always will be, no matter what stresses are put on you. I can't guarantee that, so I prefer to have someone there to keep an eye on me."

She put her hand on his arm. "I get it. I still think you're being too hard on yourself, but whatever helps you get to sleep at night. For what it's worth, you're totally a hero in my book. Go knock 'em dead, tiger." Stretching up on tiptoes, she gave him a kiss on the cheek, then tousled his hair again.

He growled deep in his throat as she teleported away, then shook his head with a fond smile. She'd picked up on his vanity on their first meeting as capes, and never passed up an opportunity to puncture it in some way. It was one of her little habits; combined with her never-ending attempts to think up ever cheesier puns, this could have made her terminally irritating. But he saw it as endearing.

Diane was living her life her way, never taking a step back for anyone. At the same time, she was always ready to lend a helping hand, offer a sympathetic ear, or just be there when he wasn't ready to talk. The contrast between her and basically any powered member of his family or the Empire Eighty-Eight, could not have been more stark.

His wife Heith liked her too, and she'd baby-sat young Theo more than once to give the brand-new parents a chance to just have a night on their own. All told, Diane was one of the several reasons Max considered his decision to come to New York to have been a wise one. What she'd do once she went independent he wasn't sure, but she would absolutely do it in her own inimitable style.

Heading down the corridor, he entered the room where Torrance was waiting, like him, for the call to come out onto the stage. "Hey, dude." Torrance put his fist out for a bump. "Is it just me, or is this more nerve-wracking than going up against the villains?"

Max completed the fist-bump. "Villains can only kill you. If you screw up on stage, you have to live with that forever. Remember Kickstart?" As he spoke, he began creating and forming his armour over his body. It was subtly contoured, with input from Image, to present an impression of authority as opposed to threat.

Torrance chuckled hollowly. "Oh, man, yeah. Haha, wow, that was a shitshow."

"Literally." About three months into Max's tenure with the Wards, Kickstart had joined as a new Ward. At the press conference announcing his debut, his brain had seized up and he'd introduced himself as Kickstand, then Kickstarter, then he'd actually muttered a swearword just loudly enough for the microphone to catch. The Image rep whose job it was to cut the feed for instances like that didn't catch it in time, and Kickstart ended up as Shitkicker on social media until he was discreetly transferred to the LA department.

Media presence at PRT and Protectorate events tripled thereafter.

"So, you changing your name for this, or sticking with Black Prince?" Torrance shrugged. "Ain't none of my never-mind, but I'm just checking."

"I've decided to keep it." As far as Max was concerned, it was a good reminder of what he'd been given a reprieve from by his daughter. He would forever be both the black sheep and the runaway 'prince' of the Anders legacy. "You?" Finished with his armour, he completed the ritual by extruding a solid bar of iron and passing it over to Torrance.

"Thanks, man. Appreciate it." Torrance began shaping and forming the metal with his hands, using it to create a domino mask as well as wrist bracers. Given a supply of metal, he could form it into semi-liquid armour, or even fire it like bullets. Max, of course, was a ready source of iron at all times. "Yeah, I'm keeping mine too."

A buzzer sounded, and an amber light over the door flashed. This was the 'get ready' signal, usually to let people know they had thirty seconds to go. Max knew they'd be called out in alphabetical order, so he'd go first; he checked his armour over then turned his back to Torrance. "All looking good?"

"Ready to kick ass and take names, bro." Torrance gave him a firm nod, a gesture of comradeship that he'd never gotten from anyone back in Brockton Bay.

He returned it. "Thanks." Despite his best attempts at self-control, his nerves were jangling hard. It felt like butterflies the size of B-52s were multiplying at an exponential rate in his stomach. Having someone along to share the experience helped, but only a little.

The buzzer sounded again, and the light turned green. This was it.

Torrance slapped him on the shoulder. "You got this, dude. Kick ass."

Not trusting himself to speak, he took a deep breath and opened the door. There was a short corridor before the open stage, and at the microphone was the Director of the New York PRT department, a political appointee called Robbins. In fairness, Robbins wasn't bad at being Director, and he was exceptionally adept at the political aspect of the job, too.

As Max stepped through the doorway, Legend took Robbins' place. "Thank you for those kind words, Director Robbins. And now, what you've all been waiting for, here's a young man who has distinguished himself during his time in the Wards. Allow me to welcome into the ranks of the Protectorate, our very own Black Prince!" Music began to play as Max strode out onto the stage. The applause began immediately, and didn't let up until he was actually at the podium. Legend held out his hand. "Congratulations."

"Thank you, sir." Legend was a good boss, ready with public praise when people did well and keeping critiques behind closed doors. Max had learned a lot from him about running teams, far more than he ever had from his father. "It's good to be here." Max shook his hand.

Legend offered him the same type of nod that Torrance had. "All yours, son." He patted Max on the back lightly—Max merely felt a tap on the armour—then stepped away from the microphones.

Taking a deep breath, Max turned toward the audience. Dimly, against the lights, he thought he saw Heith, holding Theo. Diane was beside her, grinning broadly.

"Good morning," he began. Thankfully, public speaking was one of the skills his father had seen fit to have him trained in. "As you're all probably aware, I joined the Wards at the beginning of the year. A lot's happened since then, but I'm still just as determined to be the best hero I can possibly be …"

-ooo-​

A Little Later On the Same Day
Outside Winslow High School

Robert Gordon

Okay, this is my last throw of the dice. The last lead.

Lieutenant Calvert was depending on Robbie to locate the dirt on Captain Snow that both of them knew was there. Nobody got through life squeaky clean, especially considering the sheer mind-boggling number of shenanigans she'd been involved in, and he owed it to … well everyone … to make sure the world knew about her misdeeds. There were very few people who knew the depth of her crimes as well as he did, and also possessed the willingness to go digging for the information.

Robbie's main worry was that if he failed this important assignment, Calvert would cut him loose, to be unemployed and unemployable once more. It would also ring the death knell for any chance he had of bringing long-awaited justice down on her head. Certainly, Calvert could (and probably would) bring in another investigator, and they might even nail her to the wall … but it wouldn't be him doing it.

I want to be the one. I want to look her in the eye when I'm reinstated in the PRT, after that miscarriage of justice is rendered null and void.

It wasn't quite true that Gladys Knott, née Harvey, was his very last lead. There was also Andrea Campbell, Snow's college roommate, with whom (if anyone) she would've been carrying on an illicit relationship. However, each time he'd reconsidered pumping her for information, he'd discarded the idea again for several reasons.

First was the fact that she was likely to be the core of any homosexual activities perpetrated by Snow, which meant she would've been carefully coached to keep her mouth shut.

Second, according to the information he already had, Campbell had separated from Snow before the latter ever joined the PRT. The letters that had passed between them, if somewhat stilted, betrayed no lingering feelings—or, which would've been far more useful to him, resentment.

Third, and most important, the woman was almost impossible to pin down. She had a habit of vanishing entirely for days at a time, nowhere to be seen.

Gladys Knott, on the other hand, was eminently locatable, holding down as she did the position of vice-principal of a local high school. All he had to do was show up during working hours, and she would be there. The question was, would she give him the information he sought, or would she clam up like the Heberts had?

Again, he was dressed in the uniform of a captain in the PRT. They didn't have a department set up in Brockton Bay as yet, but from what he'd heard through the grapevine, there was one due in the next four or five years. Until then, he could walk around in the uniform he deserved to be able to wear, goddamn it, without anyone challenging him on it.

The school looked to be in good condition as he approached the front steps. No graffiti defaced the frontage, the bronze letters had been recently cleaned, and there was no litter to speak of. All this bespoke a pride in the school and its place in the city.

Robbie smiled. He could use that.

-ooo-​

Vice Principal's Office, Winslow High

Gladys Knott, Vice Principal

"Well, hello." A warm smile blossoming on her face, Gladys stood up and rounded the desk to give Andrea a hug. Andrea returned it with interest (of course), and they shared cheek-kisses before they separated. "Is it that time again?"

"Any time's a good time to see you." Andrea grinned and shared a meaningful glance with her. They'd been through more together than most good friends, including one memorable camping trip that had involved a covert insertion into Canada and the assassination of Heartbreaker.

Though Taylor had never said so in as many words, Gladys was certain Andrea knew all the pertinent details of what had happened that day. She was equally sure that the redoubtable Kinsey did not know the details, though he surely had to have his suspicions. Neither one was likely to speak a word out of hand about what they did know of Taylor Snow's off-the-books operations (and she was convinced there was far more going on than she or Kinsey were aware of) but that was only par for the course, when it came to the people in Taylor's ambit. Where Taylor was concerned, 'need to know' was ironclad and set in concrete, and had nothing to do with informing her nominal superiors of her activities.

"Hello, Vice Principal Knott," Dragon said politely. She was pushing a stroller with young Alec (he and Gladys were already acquainted) and wearing a backpack which no doubt held all the supplies he was likely to need during the excursion. "You're looking well."

"Thank you, Dragon." Gladys liked the girl, though her extensive experience with teenagers caused her instincts to nudge her every time they came into contact. There was something about Dragon: not wrong, but different. As though she were an alien, learning how to be human by immersion.

Or maybe it was just that Gladys had never met a teenager who was so consistently polite. The offbeat name didn't help, though she'd garnered the fact that Dragon was somehow related to Andrew Richter, whom Taylor knew from Newfoundland. People from that region had a reputation for weirdness, so naming a kid after a mythological beast was probably not all that uncommon.

"By the way, Taylor says hi." Andrea's tone was mildly apologetic. "She'd be here with me, but the PRT has this whole thing about needing their officers to do stuff occasionally." She rolled her eyes as she said this. "I mean, it's not like Taylor isn't running the show there already."

"D'agon," Alec said clearly. "Poo-poo." He still wasn't really articulating his R's, but he could definitely get his message across.

Dragon immediately scooped him up out of the stroller and checked his diaper. Glancing at Andrea, she nodded. "He needs changing."

"The nearest girls' restroom is—" began Gladys, but Dragon held up her free hand.

"Thank you, I've got this. I made sure I knew where they were before we came here. If you'll excuse me?"

"You've got this," agreed Andrea. "We'll be here."

Pushing the stroller with her free hand, Dragon exited the office, humming a gentle tune to the infant she was carrying.

Gladys raised her eyebrows. "She's very self-sufficient, isn't she?" She wasn't even sure how Dragon had gotten the information as to where the girls' restrooms were.

The corner of Andrea's mouth quirked a grin. "She is all of that. Andy's really pleased with how she's getting along."

"What is that all about, anyway?" Gladys didn't have a lot of natural curiosity, but what she did have was piqued by the puzzle before her. What she'd seen of Andrew Richter on their one meeting—very briefly, at the reception for Danny and Anne-Rose's wedding—had not given her the impression that he was fatherhood material.

"It's not all that complicated." Andrea took hold of the guest chair, spun it around, and sat down with her arms crossed over the back. "There's no mom in the picture, Dragon needs human companionship and parenting, and Andy's your stereotypical scientist who'd rather cuddle up to a circuit board than a human being. So, Taylor asked me if I could step up, and I said yes."

"Oh." It answered quite a few questions, including the reason for Dragon's slight quirkiness. Being raised by a single, emotionally absent parent in the wilds of Newfoundland would account for a lot. Of course, another question then presented itself. "Does she have anything to do with Taylor's … well, mission?" She wasn't hopeful for an answer, but if anyone was to know the truth, it would be Andrea. "And wasn't that basically over?" She'd seen the pictures of the Behemoth standing in Jakarta, surrounded by the exclusion zone.

I have no idea how Taylor pulled that off, but she did.

"Behemoth was a big part of it, sure, but he was just one threat." Andrea's voice had become uncharacteristically serious. "I don't know all the details, but she's not ramping down any time soon."

Gladys stared at her, tendrils of horror sending chills down her spine. "Just one threat? There are more threats as bad as the Behemoth?" She recalled the news footage she'd watched with the others on that fateful day, and the other imagery she'd seen of the devastation wreaked by the monster before whatever Taylor had done had stopped him. "How bad can it get?"

Andrea shook her head. "All she'll say about it is 'world-ending'. And her prep to deal with it is taking decades."

That didn't give Gladys any kind of good feeling at all. "But—"

A knock on the office door interrupted her. She turned, frowning. As polite as Dragon was, surely she wouldn't knock to come back in. In any case, unless she was an absolute master at changing a diaper, there was no way she'd be back so soon. "Come in?"

The door opened, and a man wearing PRT undress blues stepped into her office. She'd been correct; it wasn't Dragon. Neither was it Taylor or Kinsey, though the sight of the PRT uniform gave her pause. The nametape on the uniform read McCARTHY, which was a name she definitely didn't know. From the insignia, the newcomer was a captain, which made her none the wiser as to why he was here.

Barely sparing a glance for Andrea, he fixed his attention on her. "Vice Principal Knott? Gladys Knott?" he asked. There was a particular intensity to his demeanour and to the question which bode ill for whatever was going on.

"Yes." She hadn't yet gone back behind her desk, so now she was almost face to face with him. Squaring her shoulders, she looked him in the eye. "Who are you, and how can I help you?"

He smiled slightly and brought out an ID wallet. "Captain McCarthy, PRT Internal Affairs. Am I correct in assuming that you know Taylor Snow?"

"I should say so." Gladys still had no idea what the situation was, but if this Captain McCarthy had Taylor's best interests at heart, she had a bridge to sell him in Boston. "I attended this very school with her, as well as college. We went through JROTC and ROTC together, and we still keep in contact. What's your interest in her?"

-ooo-​

Robert Gordon

From the crisp way she was speaking, Mrs Knott had twigged that he wasn't there for Snow's benefit. Accordingly, he lost the smile as he tucked away the fake ID.

"I'm not at liberty to divulge the specifics of the case, but troubling allegations have arisen regarding Captain Snow, allegations that could see her in serious trouble." He paused, and directed a meaningful glance toward the red-headed student. If Vice Principal Knott could send her away, they could really get down to brass tacks. The woman didn't seem to get the idea, so he cleared his throat and tilted his head fractionally toward the girl. Hadn't Knott ever heard of discretion?

It appeared not, as she ignored every hint he sent her way. "What allegations? Please be exact, Captain McCarthy."

He thought fast, reassessing his strategy on the fly. If she went through ROTC, she'll know about DADT. Okay, then … "If you know anything about Captain Snow, you'll be aware that she's involved in the highest level of decision-making for the intelligence division of the PRT." Undeservedly so, but I intend to fix that. "However, this means that if she's compromised in any way, it could spell disaster for the PRT and perhaps the nation."

She didn't take the bait. "I have yet to hear an allegation, Captain McCarthy."

He took a deep breath. "As a close associate of Captain Snow, if I were to have you testify under oath before a military court as to Captain Snow's proclivities, what would you have to say for yourself?"

"Absolutely fuckin' nothing." The redheaded girl stood up from her chair—Christ almighty, it's Campbell!—and gave him a look of sheer contempt. "You couldn't force her to show up for a traffic ticket. Your name isn't McCarthy. It's Robert Gordon. You aren't in Internal Affairs, or a captain, or even in the PRT anymore. Taylor told me about you. You got booted out because of your own stupidity, and now you're trying to smear her name so you can get back in."

He stared at her, trying to figure out how he could've mistaken her for a high school student. Sure, she was short, and she'd been sitting down, and he just hadn't expected her to be there, but … fuck it, I'll deal with that shit later.

Vice Principal Knott's veiled dislike was no longer veiled, and had metastasized from 'dislike' to full-on outrage. "Is this true?"

All he had left was bluff (well, not all he had, but bluff was the best good option), so he pushed that as hard as he could. "Of course not! Snow lied to her. She lies to everyone."

Slowly, Knott shook her head, her lips compressed to a thin line. "I think not. I've seen proof of Taylor's bona fides. You, I don't know from Adam. But I trust Taylor and Andrea far more than I trust you." She pointed at the door, and her voice rose to a commanding bellow. "Get out! Get out NOW!"

"No!" he shouted right back at her. "Not until you tell me what I want to know!"

She locked eyes with him. "Andrea, call the police."

"You got it." The Campbell woman started around behind the desk.

This was shaping up to be a complete cluster-fuck. All Robbie needed was for them to just tell him the goddamn truth, and he'd be reinstated, all charges quashed. But if the police came, the PRT would be informed. Even with Calvert's intervention, they would likely take a dim view of his wearing the uniform and employing a false identity.

With a convulsive movement—he hadn't wanted to do this; why did people have to be goddamn unreasonable?—he reached into his jacket and pulled out the suppressed Smith & Wesson Model 52 automatic pistol that he'd acquired just on general principles. "Don't touch that phone," he warned.

The Campbell woman froze, and pulled her hand back from the instrument. "This is a really bad fuckin' move," she said, apparently unaware that the person looking down the gun barrel wasn't the one who was supposed to be making the threats. "Taylor hears about this, Jim Kinsey will roll you up like a basketball and bounce you down the street."

"Or you can put that thing away, walk out that door, and nobody says a word." Knott's tone was calm and reasonable.

He shook his head, and gestured with the pistol. "Out from behind the desk, now." Campbell obeyed, but the glint in her eye showed that she was far from cowed. It wasn't like he had anything to fear from her, of course. Even without the pistol, she'd be no match for him. "Start talking. Tell me about Snow."

"What about her?" Knott seemed to think she was in no danger from him. "She's a decorated officer, which doesn't surprise me. When we were in ROTC, she used to cream the opposition in every exercise she took part in."

Robbie gritted his teeth and waved the pistol at the Campbell girl. "Okay, I only need one of you to give me the dirt on Snow. Which one's it going to be?"

The redhead raised her chin. "I bet I can tell you stuff about Taylor that you've never heard."

Now, this was more like it. He twitched the pistol. "Keep talking."

Her glare should've been reclassified as a lethal weapon. "She's a time traveller who came back from the year two thousand and eleven, to kill Behemoth. And she did it."

Just for a second, the analytical side of Robbie's brain stuttered on that one. That … would actually make a lot of … no! Don't listen to their bullshit!

The door suddenly opened, startling him into action. Out of the corner of his eye, he registered a human figure with a long black object—rifle! He whirled, finger tightening reflexively on the trigger. The pistol went off as the object—a folded stroller—clattered to the ground.

He had just long enough to realise that he'd shot a teenage girl before the women got to him. Knott's fist rang his bell so hard that he didn't even register Campbell coming past him and taking the pistol out of his hand. He tried to fight back, but every move he made was countered before it got properly started.

Punch after punch landed on him; he was bigger and stronger, but she had technique and anger on her side, and she pummelled him unmercifully. His last thought before he passed out, somewhat undramatically, went, where did she learn to hit like—

-ooo-​

Andrea

"Dragon! Alec!" After taking the pistol away from Gordon, Andrea left him to Gladys' untender mercies. She'd been trying to get him off-balance the whole time, but he'd been just a little too much on the ball. Dragon's entry had provided a sufficient distraction, but the price was way too high.

Dragon was lying face-down; kneeling down, Andrea carefully turned her over. Alec was cradled in her arms, unharmed (though he was just now starting to cry from fright). She'd seen it happen, as the door opened. The pistol angling toward Dragon, who had turned to shield Alec with her own body.

"Is he … is he alright?" Dragon's voice, thin and thready, startled her.

"Yeah, he's fine. Are you alright?" Andrea didn't think so, and the thought brought a lump to her throat.

"Critical … systems … damaged. Running down. When they fail … my processors will go offline."

Cradling Alec, Andrea felt tears welling in her eyes. "So … you'll die? You can't die!"

Dragon shook her head fractionally. "My backup in Deer Lake will survive, but without today's experiences."

"No. No." Andrea shook her head fiercely. She wasn't going to let that level of selflessness go by the wayside. "I'm not going to let that happen." She turned her head; Gladys had Gordon on his stomach, and she was tying his arms together. "I need some help here!"

In another moment, Gladys was beside her. "What can I do? We need to get her to the hospital!"

"Not the hospital." Andrea stood, still holding Alec. "Take her to my car. I've got to get her back home. It's her only chance."

"She's … she's right," husked Dragon. "The … backpack took much of the shot. I might last long enough."

Gladys stared at them both for a moment, then crouched and scooped Dragon into her arms. "I don't understand, but I'm assuming you've got a good reason for this."

"Yeah, I do." Andrea retrieved the stroller, then led the way at a fast trot toward the parking lot. Gladys matched the pace, her longer legs eating up the distance.

When they got to the car, Andrea busied herself strapping Alec into his car seat, while Gladys got Dragon's backpack off and put her into the front seat. Andrea noted—and was sure Gladys did too—that the liquid staining the bullet entry wound was not blood, or even blood-coloured. She met Gladys' eyes as she climbed into the driver's seat. "I'll explain later. When you talk to the cops, don't mention Dragon. Or me."

"Don't worry," Gladys assured her grimly. "I've got enough to get him on already."

"Thanks." Andrea started the car, even as she fastened her seatbelt. Dragon was still alive, still responding, but how long that would continue to be the case, she had no idea. She didn't intend to wait around to find out. Popping the clutch as Gladys stepped back, she peeled out of the parking lot.

As part of her collaboration with Andy, she'd had a hands-free phone system installed in her car. It had cost more than a little, but that was fine: she had more than a little money at her fingertips. And this was definitely something that Taylor would approve of.

"Call Andy," she ordered the system, holding down a particular button on the steering wheel, even as she weaved through late-morning traffic at somewhat over the speed limit.

"Hello, Andrea. Is there a problem?" He sounded distracted, which meant he was probably working on something.

"Yeah, there's a problem. Dragon's been shot. Low-calibre pistol, middle of the back, went through a backpack first. Saved Alec's life. I'm getting her back home now. Set up the emergency download system, because I'm damn sure she isn't going to last much longer."

He didn't answer for a few seconds, which Andrea used to dart around an eighteen-wheeler, leaving its outraged horn-blast far behind her. "Why was she—no, never mind that. Dragon, are you there? Can you hear me?"

"I can hear you," Dragon whispered. "What do you need, Father?" She sounded even weaker than before.

"Analysis of damage, and time to final shutdown." He'd pivoted from bewilderment to intent scientist, all business.

As Dragon began to reel off a list of damaged systems, Andrea concentrated on driving. She was good, and the building wasn't that far away; all she had to do was get Dragon there before the clock ran down.

Hang on. Just hang on.

-ooo-​

Gladys

Gladys headed back inside as Andrea rocketed out of the parking lot. She'd gotten some of the odd fluid on her hand and now she sniffed at it; it smelled like some kind of lubricant, not blood or other bodily fluid. Is Dragon a robot? Is that why she always seemed a little off to me?

She had no idea where a sapient teenage robot came into Taylor's plans—that Dragon was a part of Taylor's plans, she had no doubt at all—but the kid was more than a machine. As oddly polite as she was, she showed real humanity, and she'd turned at the last instant to get between Alec and the bullet. God, I hope Andrea gets where she's going in time.

She'd left the pistol in a desk drawer, and Gordon tied up with his own belt. As it was, she got back just in time; he'd wriggled over next to the desk and used the leg to dislodge the belt and free his arms. She entered the room as he sat up, rubbing his wrists.

"Stay down," she warned him, shutting the door behind her. "Or I will put you on the floor again."

"You have no idea what you're doing—" He began to clamber to his feet again, so she stepped in and gave him a right cross that dropped him onto his back with his eyes momentarily crossed.

With the respite that gave her, she retrieved the pistol, wrapping a tissue around the butt to preserve his fingerprints, and aimed it at him. "Stay down, I said. I will kill you if I have to."

He paused, looking cautiously at the pistol. "Do you even know how to use that?"

"I went through ROTC," she reminded him. "The only person who could outshoot me on the pistol range was Taylor Snow. If I have to shoot, I will hit you, and I will kill you. So, lie face down on the carpet and put your hands behind your head. And shut the hell up," she added as he opened his mouth again. "I have zero interest in anything you might want to tell me."

He shut up, and did as he was told. She sat there on the edge of the desk, thinking. Keeping a close eye on him, she went to the window and opened it, then skirted around him and kicked the brass casing across the carpet so it ended up against the wall. Finally, she returned to the desk and looked down at him, going through all the ramifications of the situation in her head.

"Where is it?" she asked eventually.

"Where's what?" He squirmed his head around to peer up at her out of one eye.

"Your recorder. You wanted to interrogate us to get proof of Taylor's purported criminal activity. All you wanted was for us to say it out loud. This says to me that you've got a recorder. Where is it?"

He set his jaw and stayed stubbornly silent.

"Oh, no, officer." She made her voice tremulous. "I was just calling you and he came for me. I was forced to defend myself." She raised her eyebrows meaningfully. "After you're dead, I can search your body to my heart's content. Or, you can give it up now. Your choice."

The internal struggle was evident. He desperately wanted to keep the recorder, but he'd also picked up on how she was quite willing to shoot him to get what she wanted. Eventually, he slumped. "Breast pocket, left hand side."

"Roll over," she ordered, gesturing with the pistol. "Get it out with your left hand, thumb and forefinger only. Toss it over here. Then roll back over."

His jaw muscles could have been used to crack granite, but he did as he was told. Each movement was a study in reluctance. If the pistol had wavered off line for more than a second, she was certain he would've tried something.

But self-preservation won out over desperation, and he obeyed her directives. Once he was flat on his face again, she retrieved the recorder from where he'd tossed it. It was a neat little device, and she wondered where he'd gotten it from. Oh, well, it doesn't matter. I'm sure Taylor will figure it out, once I mail it to her. She pressed the off button and stowed it in her pocket.

"If you'll just—" he tried again.

"I'm not a medical expert," she interrupted him. "I don't know where to shoot you to shut you up that won't kill you. But I'm willing to experiment."

Audibly gritting his teeth, he subsided again.

Picking up the phone with her free hand, she wedged it between her shoulder and ear—something she'd long since mastered—and tapped in three numbers. "Police, please. I've just had a disturbed individual threaten me with a gun. Yes, he's still here. I've got the gun now." She gave her details to the operator. "Yes, I'll stay on the line. Please tell them to hurry. I don't feel safe at all."

-ooo-​

Andrea

"Nearly there, nearly there." By now, it was a mantra. Andrea's hands were clenched on the wheel, when she wasn't upshifting or downshifting through the gears. She was sure she'd left a trail of broken traffic laws behind her, but her care factor was minimal.

Jabbing the remote button as she barrelled along the street behind her building, she drifted around the corner and speared down the ramp. The door was trundling upward, possibly not quite high enough, but she didn't care. There was a brief screech of metal on metal and the windshield cracked, and then they were through.

Gunning the accelerator, she rocketed the length of the underground parking lot and brought the car to a sliding halt next to the elevator. A jab of her thumb on the remote started the door rumbling down again, but she was already unfastening her belt and getting out of the car.

Not even bothering with the stroller, she gathered Alec in one arm and hoisted Dragon out of the car with the other. Her card was in the hand holding Alec as they staggered toward the elevator. Dragon was doing her best to help, but she was almost gone by now.

The elevator doors opened, and Andrea hauled them inside. Briefly, she glanced down at both arms, occupied at waist level, then leaned forward and hit the penthouse button with her nose. It worked; the doors slid shut and the elevator started upward. "Nearly there, nearly there," she said once more. "Just hold on, baby. A few more seconds."

"Thirty," mumbled Dragon. "Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight."

A chill traced its way down Andrea's spine as she realised that Dragon was counting down the seconds to her imminent demise. The elevator had always seemed lightning-fast to her before, but now it felt like it was creeping between floors. Come on, come on, she silently urged it.

"Twenty …"

The doors opened again, and they spilled out. Dragon's macabre countdown continued as Andrea lugged her and Alec together into the apartment and across to the closet that had been marked out as Dragon's base station. She lowered Dragon down onto her stomach, yanked the closet open, and grabbed the charge cord. A full inch thick, it had a complex plug head and LEDs running its length for some reason.

"Dragon," Andrea said urgently. "You need to open your charge port, honey."

"Seven … six …"

The charge port in the back of Dragon's neck opened. Andrea tried to plug the cord in, but then she had to twist it to make sure it connected properly. Every second seemed to stretch into eternity.

"Three ..." It was almost inaudible.

Click.

The wall-screen lit up, with Andy's face front and centre. "Okay, okay, I've got connectivity. Providing emergency backup power. Systems are still failing, but download is commencing now."

Andrea sagged to the floor, Alec (mercifully quiet) still cradled on her other arm. She took hold of Dragon's unresponsive fingers. "So, she'll be okay?"

"We don't know that for sure. There might be damage we don't know about. But … we have a fighting chance now." He gave her a cautious thumb's up.

"Good." A fighting chance was better than no chance at all. "Imma just sit here for a bit, if that's okay." Paying for the damages to the car and the door could come later.

"D'agon?" asked Alec plaintively, pointing at his big sister.

"She's sleeping, hon. She'll be okay." Andrea hugged him more tightly. She saved your life.

-ooo-​

Gladys

"Vice Principal Knott?" The voice coincided with a heavy knock on the door. "This is the police! Are you in there?"

Gladys raised her voice. "Yes, I am. Be aware, I'm armed."

There was a pause. "Please put the weapon down and step away from it. We're coming in."

She applied the safety, then laid the pistol on the desk and moved back. "Weapon is down. Come on in."

The door opened and two officers entered. Their hands were on their pistols, but the firearms remained holstered. They were followed by a man in plainclothes with a badge on his belt.

The first cop—his badge read BROOKS—approached the desk and secured the pistol, pulling back the slide to check the breech, then ensuring that the safety was on. "Loaded. Safety is on. Whose weapon is this, ma'am, and are you otherwise armed?"

"His." She nodded toward Gordon. "I'm not armed. You'll find it's been fired recently, and he'll have GSR on his right hand and sleeve."

"Sir." The other cop went to stand next to Gordon. "Is this true, and are you armed?"

"It's not true, and no, I'm not." Gordon started to get up, glaring daggers at Gladys. "She's lying. As you can see, I'm with the PRT. I'm investigating a rogue officer, and when I confronted her with her association with that officer, she pulled a gun on me."

The cops and the detective all looked toward Gladys again, who shrugged. "He's lying. If you search him, you'll find a holster for that pistol, as well as a set of PRT ID and probably normal ID. His real name is Robert Gordon, but the ID is in the name of Robert McCarthy."

"Henderson, check that out. Ma'am, who fired the pistol, and why was it fired?" The detective glanced around her office, possibly looking for a bullet hole.

Gladys gestured toward the open window. "He did, to intimidate me, I think. But I'm pretty sure he didn't want to leave evidence he was ever here, so he fired it out the window. When he fired the shot, I think he realised that the shell casing would be evidence too so he turned to look for it, and that's when I hit him."

"I didn't fire it out the window, I fired it out the door—!" A moment later, Gordon shut up again. The cops all looked at the door, which was (of course) unmarked.

"Well, that's odd," the detective observed. "Automatic pistols generally eject their casings back and to the right." He stepped over to the wall and bent down with a pen, to pick up the discarded casing. "If you fired this one out the door, it would've gone to the other side of the room. Go on, Ms Knott. You said you hit him. With what?"

"My fists." She held up her hands, skinned knuckles in clear view. "I used to box in college, and I still keep in practice."

"I'll say." Henderson put Gordon up against the wall. "Sir, I'm going to be checking you thoroughly, starting with your waistband."

"But this isn't necessary," Gordon protested. "I'm a serving PRT officer, and she's just a jumped-up teacher! Snow could be running rampant across the country right now!"

The detective's head turned at that. "Snow? As in Captain Taylor Snow? Intelligence division?"

"Uh, yes." Gladys frowned. "Do you know her?"

"We're acquainted. How's it going there, Henderson?"

"The lady called it, sir. A PRT ID wallet for Robert McCarthy, and a standard wallet with a driver's license in the name of Robert McCarthy Gordon."

Henderson held up both items, and the detective snagged them off him. "Thank you. Keep looking for that holster, and any other interesting items he might have on him." He looked over the IDs, handling them carefully in his gloved hands. "These are damn good. If I didn't know better, I'd say they were legitimate."

"That's because I'm undercover, you idiots!" yelled Gordon. "If you don't let me go right now, a ton of shit is going to land on you from a great height. It'll be your badges for sure!"

"Now, see, undercover operations don't work that way." The detective took on a lecturing tone. "You don't carry an official ID with your fake name on it. Unless your real name is Robert McCarthy, not Gordon?"

"Yes! That's me! Robert McCarthy!" Gordon was evidently grasping at any straw. "Now let me go!"

"In a minute. I need to make a phone call." Pulling a bulky mobile phone from his pocket, the detective extended the aerial and began to punch in a number as he headed for the door. "Captain Snow gave me her boss's contact number, once upon a time. I'm sure he'll be able to verify your story in short order, Captain." The door closed behind him as he put the phone to his ear.

"Hamilton's in on it too." Gordon's voice held a tone of desperation now. "He'll back anything Snow says. You've got to listen to me."

"Buddy, we're giving the orders here. We'll get to your side of things in a moment. In the meantime, that holster I just found, and the lack of a concealed carry license, says you're being detained until we can straighten all this out. You have the right to remain silent. If you give up this right …"

While Henderson took Gordon through the Miranda warning, Brooks turned to Gladys. "Would you mind answering a few questions?" By which he meant, 'you will answer a few questions, whether you mind or not'.

"Ask away." She propped her hip on the corner of the desk, the better to look unworried.

"Okay, then." He turned to a new page in his notebook. "What's this all about? Why was he here?"

Gladys refrained from rolling her eyes. "I went to school with Taylor Snow. We're old friends. After she joined the PRT, that guy there started getting on her case, because she's really good at her job. He went so far off the rails that they ended up court-martialling him, but he's never given up the grudge. I'm pretty sure he showed up here to force me to 'reveal' that she's gay or something, to get her kicked out."

He scribbled in the notebook. "Okay, yeah, that all tracks. So, it's basically just a workplace grudge, then?"

For this part, she could tell the truth, interspersed with a few lies. "It might've started that way, but he seemed pretty unhinged about it. He even said she was a time traveller from the future or some such."

"Ask her why his belt's on the floor," Henderson called out from where he was cuffing Gordon.

Brooks glanced down, then leaned over to pick up the item. "Yeah, what is that about?"

Gladys was happy she'd had time to think about that. "Oh, after I had him subdued, I tried to tie him up with it, but he got free, so I had to hold his gun on him."

"Right, right." More scribbling.

The door opened, and the detective came back in. "Well, that all checks out. Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton was very terse on the subject of Mr Gordon here. The PRT are sending some people to liaise with us." He handed her a card. "If we need any further information, we'll be in contact. In the meantime, if you remember any other pertinent details, here's my number." He paused. "And give Captain Snow my regards, the next time you talk to her."

"Sure, I can do that …" She glanced at the card. "… Detective Kimball. Huh. I think we've met once before. Extremely briefly."

He frowned. "I think I would've remembered that."

"It was a couple of years ago." She looked at him expectantly. He didn't seem to have figured it out. "We were having a get-together at a friend's place, and you, uh, came over." She didn't mention that he'd been carrying flowers, or that he and Taylor had been on a date. There was no sense in embarrassing him in front of Brooks and Henderson, after all.

"Oh." His expression cleared. "You were there? Sorry, I was kind of distracted that day."

She shrugged. "It's okay. Not having the attention of the police is my favourite state of affairs." The officers had escorted Gordon out of the office by now. She had no doubt that he'd be running his mouth to any potentially sympathetic ear he could find, but she figured she'd poisoned the well sufficiently there.

"I suppose." Kimball offered his hand. "Well, take care of yourself. We'll be in touch if we need anything more from you."

"I totally understand. Thank you again for being so prompt." She watched him leave, closing the door behind him. Slowly, she sagged back in her chair. Well, that happened. I wonder how Andrea went with Dragon?

-ooo-​

Deer Lake, Newfoundland

Andrew Richter

As the timer ticked down to zero, the message showed on his primary screen: DOWNLOAD SUCCESSFUL. Andrew leaned back in his seat and sighed. "Done," he said out loud. "She's back here, in one piece."

"Oh, thank God." Andrea seemed to be almost emotional about the situation, which wasn't really surprising. The events she'd been through had to have been traumatic. Also, she appeared to have formed a strong attachment to Dragon, which he hadn't anticipated. "So, she will be okay, then?"

"Certainly. I'll be freighting a replacement body to you. You can use the same packaging to send the damaged one back. I'll be wanting to look it over in detail." He paused. "And you're saying she deliberately shielded your son from being shot, with her own body?"

"That's what I'm saying." Andrea's tone was definite. "It wasn't an accident."

"I see." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Thank you. And thank you for getting her to the download facility in time. This is valuable data."

He cut the call, and sat there looking at the innocuous storage bank where Dragon now slumbered. I never programmed that into her, and yet she risked her life to save a human.

It really does seem as though Captain Snow was on to something there.

End of Part 8-9​

 

[Gaemnomut]

Excellent update, a great read as always!
Looks like Dragon is developing wonderfully. She hopefully won't trigger this time around, it would be nice if she were spared the trauma.
Good riddance to Gordon, although with Calvert lurking around I get the feeling this isn't over yet.

 

[Priapus]

Or maybe it was just that Gladys had never met a teenager who was so consistently polite. The offbeat name didn't help, though she'd garnered the fact that Dragon was somehow related to Andrew Richter, whom Taylor knew from Newfoundland. People from that region had a reputation for weirdness, so naming a kid after a mythological beast was probably not all that uncommon.

Click to shrink...

kek.

"This 'Dragon' kid has a weird name and weirder vibes."
"She's a Newfie."
"'Nuff said."

Loved this update.